


Siren

by hanktalkin



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Curses, F/F, Female Friendship, Foreign Language, Historical, Little Mermaid Elements, Magic, Minor Injuries, Monsters, Naval Battles, Nudity, Seduction, Sign Language, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 14:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10720869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanktalkin/pseuds/hanktalkin
Summary: "When something like a black cloud passed between her and them, she knew that it was either a whale swimming over her head, or a ship full of human beings, who never imagined that a pretty little mermaid was standing beneath them, holding out her white hands towards the keel of their ship."-The Little Mermaid, Hans Christian Anderson, 1836





	1. You Cannot Outrun The Sea Itself

 

 

> **_May 11, 1664_ **
> 
> **_12 leagues off the coast of Haiti_ **

  “Well…shit.”

Isabela put the spyglass down, Varric’s favorite phrase sliding past her lips of their own accord. Varric himself looked over the horizon with similar concern, and opened his palm as she returned the glass to him.

“You can say that again,” he agreed. The two of them stood at the bow, gazing at the ever-growing squall in front of them. Wind already whipped the feathers on Isabela’s hat, tugging at clothes, promising to only grow stronger.

But that’s where they were headed. When you’re running, there’s no way to go but forward.

The captain’s mouth was a grim line, and she turned to her anxious crew. Now was the time for a bold statement, a plan of action, a rousing speech from their fashionably dressed leader.

She shrugged. “We’ve survived worse.”

All hands on deck. Boots and bare feet thundered over teak, grabbing lines as they tried to prepare _The Duelist_ for her ride into the storm. Isabela didn’t slack, pulling the sail in so it wouldn’t drag them into the who-knows-where once they were fighting the wind. Merrill flitted in and out, climbing the rigging like she was born to it, and Isabela caught glimpses of Fenris as he fought against the weight of the sail. Almost as an afterthought, she cast a casual glace to the stern even though she knew what she’d still find there.

Sure enough, the _HMS St Augustine_ kissed the horizon, right on their tail ever since they’d lost sight of Tortuga. But an English vessel wouldn’t follow them into these winds, not if their captain was halfway above an idiot and knew when to fight another day. Which she was. She was boorish, stubborn, and a terrible pain in Isabela’s rear, but she wasn’t crazy.

Isabela was.

* * *

 

There was no way to tell what was up or down, the deck often vertical as it was tossed like fists in a bar fight. Every dip, every moving swing, nearly sent a member of the crew overboard. Below decks wasn’t any safer than above; they either needed to save the ship or die trying. Right now it looked like the former.

The mizzen cracked. It had only taken one terrible bolt of lightning to bring it down, crashing towards the deck, towards the captain. Her leap landed her in a pile of netting, safety short lived as a canon broke fee on the starboard side. _The Duelist_ pitched again, tilting, spinning, gravity sending the forty-five kilograms of iron smashing towards Isabela. A last desperate roll to the side didn’t save her. The canon smashed the railing, and she didn’t have a second to think another ironic _well, shit_ before she disappeared into the sea.

* * *

 

Now she _definitely_ couldn’t tell which way was up. Her only clue was occasionally green lightning would flicker, creating an incandescent divide between reality and dream. Where the lightning was—that was up. And up was slowly getting farther away.

Bubbles escaped from her throat as she tried to swim upward, but it was pointless. Something was wrapped around her foot, dragging her into the deep. She kicked, or tried to. It was so heavy that she couldn’t even raise her leg. Another flash of green from the surface and _oh. The cannon._

The net was tangled in the cannon and her foot was tangled in the net. How perfect. Fighting lack of oxygen and the darkness that got deeper every second, she drew one of the daggers from her back and began to slash.

Green lightning was odd, wasn’t it? She hadn’t been able to question it when she was up on deck and trying to keep her ship from going under, but dying slowly gave her the opportunity to be perplexed. Or maybe her mind was just starting to wander.

She was getting nowhere. Every swing was slow in the churning saltwater, slices barely making headway into the rope. It seemed every cut she made only hit skin and leather, more knots and tangles to replace the ones she freed. And there was only so much she could do before her time was up; with fading consciousness, the dagger slipped from her grasp. The silver shard of metal spun upwards, falling slower than she. She turned her head to it.

As she looked up, the silhouette of a gigantic fished passed in front of the green lights. Vaguely, she remembered Merrill’s squeaked worries of sharks in the warm waters, and but Isabela had assured her they’d all be fine as long as no one fell in.

 _Balls_ , was the last thing the captain thought before the pain in her lungs won over, and a scream of bubbles escaped her.

* * *

 

Blacking out and waking up seemed to happen simultaneously, no intermediary where she was drifting through unconsciousness. One second she was swallowing water, the next the was spitting out sand, tiny grains that stuck to her teeth no matter how hard she coughed.

Sun. Warm.

“Maybe I’ll just lie down here…for a few minutes…” she said to no one in particular. She was alive which was great, but any further deductions would have to be made at a later date. Once she had heaved most of the water from her lungs, she lay on her side and closed her eyes.

Despite the heat of the sun on her shoulders, Isabela didn’t drift back into sleep. Her brain had started the slow churn into usefulness, and its thoughts were keeping awake.

 _Stupid brain_. She was on a beach somewhere. They must have drifted close enough to shore during the storm, and she’d washed up here once it had cleared. Once that mystery was solved, her brain did the most annoying thing of alerting her to the pain in her leg.

Isabela groaned as she pushed herself into a sitting position, looking down at the tattered remains of her left boot. Dried blood rushed over browned skin, most from the cuts she’d given herself, but dozens of smaller lacerations ran along as well. Now she was actually looking at, it hurt like the plague.

“I rather liked that boot…” she said, again to no one.

Or maybe not to no one. Because as she sat on the beach with her senses returning to her, she got the distinct impression she was being watched. Slowly, with a turn of her head, her eyes focused on a small outcropping of rocks to her left.

On them was a siren.

A real, honest to god siren because Isabela had gotten several drinks in her and seen some real bloody good fake sirens, so she knew what one definitely _didn’t_ look like. Only this was it. Her scales were red, prickling all along her lower body that shined in the sunlight. Propped on one elbow, the siren looked at Isabela with curiosity, head resting in her hand. She very noticeably wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“Er…hello,” Isabela greeted. Not her most impressive of introductions, but it would do.

The siren raised her head and blinked at the captain. A smile touched her lips, and she gave a tiny wave.

“Well. I’ve certainly woke up next to stranger people.”

The siren laughed, mouth open but no sound coming out, pushing herself up just enough to sit on the rocks. Her hair was a short, deep black, looking like it hadn’t been brushed since the invention of the sextant. A sharp scar ran from one cheek to another, such a dark pink it almost looked like a splash of blood across her face.

“You don’t talk much I take it.”

Shaking her head, the siren frowned. She raised her hands and made a couple of small motions, tracing her fingers through the air and then snapping them back again. When Isabela didn’t respond to the signs, she repeated them, then gave up with another shake of her head.

Isabela was still reeling from the fact she had no idea what the hell was going on. A minute ago she’d been drowning, but now she was on a beach in the ass end of nowhere. Where was she? And more importantly, where was her blasted ship? As she rubbed a bit of sand from the corner of her eye, she looked down her leg again.

“I suppose I have you to thank for this then?” The siren nodded. “How’d you get rid of the net?”

She grinned, showing rows and rows of glitteringly sharp teeth.

_Ah. I see._

Isabela began to take inventory of herself, see if the harpy chewed off any other important bits. Her dagger was missing, sunk somewhere deep in the Gonâve and beyond mortal means. Her hat was gone, and her hair was a mess. But hey, one good thing about taking a tumble into the ocean is she no longer had to worry about a bath for the foreseeable future.

With a groan of despair, Isabela’s hand flew over her chin. “Blast! My lip stud…” But no matter how many times her fingers ran over the spot, all that was left was a small dent in her skin. She stumbled to her feet, the pain in her leg making her want to pass out again, and dragged herself to where the siren was. The outcropping had made a tide pool, just still enough that she could lean over and see her reflection.

“ _Balls._ ” It’d belonged to her mother, traitorous bitch though she was. It’s was more the heritage of it all than anything. Oh well, at least she still had her earrings.

Her legs couldn’t take much more standing. She slumped against the rocks and considered taking another nice nap until she was poked softly in the cheek. One crusty eye cracked open and looked into the face of the curious siren.

“Aren’t sirens supposed to drown sailors, not save them?”

The siren looked genuinely offended.

Isabela allowed herself a small chuckle, which feel good to her waterlogged lungs. Maybe she was crazy, but she didn’t feel all that concerned about the half-naked mythical creature with a mouth full of shark teeth that was currently glowering over her.

“Alright, one more question. Then Isabela needs a nap.” When the siren just tilted her head in confusion, Isabela indicated to herself. “That’s me by the way. Captain Isabela, at your service. Although usually when I say that, it’s a lot more grand, and I’m usually swinging down from the rigging ready to cut off some sod’s head.”

The siren gave what could only be described as a giggle-snort.

And unbidden smile came to Isabela’s lips. “Alright, the question. If you’re supposed to lure sailors to their deaths with your beautiful singing voice, how can you not even talk?”

Scrunching up her face, the siren weighed her options. In the end, she opened her mouth and extruded from her vocal cords a sound ten times worst than a hull scrapping against a rock bar. It was mercifully short, and when she stopped, Isabela pulled her hands away from her ears.

“Alright Sweet Thing, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll stop making assumptions about all this magical crap I don’t understand, and you stay here for a little while so I don’t get eaten by island boars. Savvy?”

Ever so sweetly, the siren smiled. As Isabela made a pillow for herself out of sand, she questioned her judgment on letting the shark monster watch over her in her sleep.


	2. I Got Better

“You know, I can tell this isn’t a dream.”

They had been walking along the shore for an hour now, almost an entire day passed since the storm. Well, Isabela was walking. The siren was jumping in and out between the waves, leading her who knows where, but it was better than sitting around and getting sand in uncomfortable places.

“I know, because if you were a dream siren, my leg wouldn’t hurt so much and we’d be wearing a lot less clothing.” The siren stopped, floating just far enough from Isabela that she could swim comfortably and tilt her head in confusion. “Well, I suppose _I’d_ be wearing less clothing. Looks like you’ve already got me beat.”

The siren determined that her human companion wasn’t making any sense, and continued swimming south. Sighing, Isabela followed. Sirens didn’t to seem to have any concept of modesty, which was fine by her. Maybe after she had something to eat, she’d join a whole school of sirens and live out her days among the topless and the nautical. That’s what a group of sirens would be called, right? A school? She’d ask her guide, but doubted she’d get an answer.

“How much farther ‘til we get there, Sweet Thing?” Wherever _there_ was. “I’m not exactly in top condition at the moment.”

Pausing again, the siren thoughtfully put a hand to her chin. Then, she spread her hands apart about one foot.

“…Cute.”

The siren smirked and shrugged.

More walking. Uhg, there was no worse way to get back your land legs than to have one be chewed on by a shark and then have to walk however many miles to reach another place where you’d probably be chewed on by more sharks. All Isabela could think about was her ship: poor, lost and alone without her guidance. And the crew too. The thought that they might not have been as lucky as her in surviving the storm plagued her every now and again, and she tried to push it away. _You’re getting soft, Isabela._

Thankfully, she didn’t have to worry about being maudlin much longer. They arrived at their destination: a knitted little hut on a spit of the land. Smoke rose from it, and Isabela wondered if she was really in a position to be dazzling new acquaintances. She was saved the trouble of deciding as the siren threw a rock at the window facing the sea. It pinged off paneled glass. The siren threw another one. She kept tossing pebbles against the huts window until a woman emerged.

_Does everyone on this beach go around topless?_

Well, mostly topless. The dark haired occupant of the house wore thin trappings around her middle, covering up the good bits. She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to one side, observing her guest with yellow eyes.

“ _My my_ ,” she said, her accent far more posh than what Isabela was expecting. “Look what the sea has brought to me today.”

The siren immediately waved her hands, grabbing the woman’s attention. With a flickering of hands, Isabela recognized the motions the siren had tried on her, only the woman seemed to understand.

“Hm, so ‘twas not the sea at all, but a maid who brings…” Yellow eyes once again beheld the pirate. “…A curiosity to my door.”

“What a charming little home you have here,” Isabela remarked, never too distracted to flirt. “Although it’d be quite a lot better if it had a few bandages inside? Not meaning to be pushy, just feel like I’m going to pass out again.”

The woman quirked an eyebrow. “I have something better, actually. Though first, introductions. I am Morrigan, witch of this island. And you are?”

Well. Who was going to top that title? “Captain Isabela of _The Duelist_. If she still sails.”

“A pirate? My, you do indeed bring me interesting flotsam, Hawke.”

It took a moment, but Isabela realized Morrigan was referring to the fishwoman. “Wait…you named your siren after a _bird_?” Of all the half-assed naming conventions…

“I did not name her. ‘Tis her name, and I had nothing to do with it; I merely gave her the tools to tell me. As is well, she is not a siren but a mermaid, though I understand why a pirate might be wary of the former.”

By now, Hawke had moved herself onto the rocks below Morrigan’s hut, propping her head on her hands. When Isabela looked at her once again, her face could almost be described as coy. She gave a flick of her tail, ruby-red scales glinting in the setting sun.

“But enough of that,” Morrigan continued. “I will take it from here.” Hawke began frantically signing as Morrigan tried to lead Isabela inside, but the witch merely rolled her eyes. “I promise, she will come to no harm. You become far too attached far too quickly. Now begone with you.”

Isabela didn’t see if Hawke slipped back into the ocean, more concerned with an absolutely fantastic smell that got better the further she went inside. Not far enough though, since no sooner was the door closed than Morrigan made her sit down in a wooden chair, positioned near the window just so. Orange sunset soaked though the panes, running over her leg as Morrigan propped it in another chair.

“I admit that healing magic is not my expertise, but I am far better than any normal doctor you’ll run across. Hold still.”

There wasn’t time to ask questions like why do I have to hold still? is this the part where you kill me? or do you know if the Hawke is free tonight? because Morrigan had already begun the process. Skin knitted before Isabela’s eyes, the gashes and slices fading to nothing more than a few scars. Green light spread from delicate hands as Morrigan moved them along her patient, drawing them back to rest politely in her lap once it was over.

Isabela stared blankly at her leg, then at Morrigan, then at her leg again. “Alright. Tell me truth: I’m still back in Tortuga, black-out drunk and lying face down in a pile of pig manure.”

“I am afraid not.”

Well. It was worth a shot.

“Don’t suppose you have some rum lying around? I could really use something for this.”

“I assure you the magic I’ve worked here is completely sanitary.”

“I actually just meant I’d like to get hanged.”

As Isabela nursed her bottle of wine (apparently island witches don’t carry around real booze) she watched Morrigan tidy up the hut. She slowly stirred a pot of stew over a cook fire, intentionally oblivious to the pirate’s unwavering eyes. Isabela’s stomach grumbled. Despite good food and a barely dressed woman being only a yard away—two things that would normally get priority in Isabela’s brain space, no matter the situation—she couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that she was going utterly crazy.

“A siren saved me from drowning and now I’m watching a witch make soup. What have you gotten yourself into Isabela?”

Apparently, she didn’t say it entirely to herself, and Morrigan corrected, “mermaid,” from across the room.

“What’s the difference?”

“Sirens are creatures of Greek legend,” the she explained to Isabela, placing a bowl of steaming stew in front of her. “Originally, they were giant hawks with the heads of women, who lured sailors to their death by their beautiful singing voices. A fanciful tale, of sure. The mermaids are what you have seen today, the merefolk, though their reputation has since blended with those of the sirens.”

Isabela eyed the soup suspiciously. Didn’t witches make their broth from children? Still, it smelled so good… _Self control Isabela. Self control._

“You seem quite taken with Hawke,” Morrigan noted.

“Taken? I barely know what to think about her. I don’t even know why she saved me, and I’ve spent the last day half convinced she was going to eat me! Have you seen the teeth??”

Morrigan had a strange look cross her face, like she was suppressing the urge to laugh. “Yes. I’ve seen the teeth.” Before Isabela could continue her tirade, Morrigan dissuaded her. “You need not worry about Hawke’s intentions. She merely fancies pretty things that fall off ships.”

“And what about you? I don’t like being in debt; someone always hunts me down and finds a way to make me pay it. So, before I drink this soup that’s probably going to turn me into a newt, tell me this: what’s the catch?”

Rightening herself, Morrigan smiled, as though she had been waiting awhile for Isabela to ask. It was a damn sight unnerving. Blast her witchyness and her yellow eyes and her perfect posture.

“There is no need to be alarmed—unless you are planning to attack me out of paranoia, in which case I will be forced to kill you. No, I believe you can help me in…other ways that don’t involve being a newt.”

“Oh?” Isabela skipped the sigh of relief forming in her chest and went straight into _hunter_ mode. “Really? If that’s all you wanted sweetheart, you could have said that from the beginning.” Smiling coyly, Isabela stretched out on her provided seat, looking as enticing as she could when she was still half drownd. The effect was diminished somewhat when she almost knocked over her bowl of stew.

Morrigan chuckled. “That won’t be necessary,” she said, a trace of humor in her eyes. “Though I am flattered at the offer. No, unlike Hawke, my interest in you lies elsewhere.”

Before Isabela could sit up, Morrigan was moving to the far side of the hut. Isabela felt she was supposed to follow. The witch opened a locked box with a twist of her wrist, the latch snapping open on its own. She motioned Isabela closer.

“This,” she said as the pirate leaned in, “belonged to my mother.”

It was an amulet. A green stone set the center, covered by rings of milgrain and several golden halo. The designs were unlike any Isabela had ever seen, infinitely looping animals stylized into the metal. The only thought that could possibly reflect the growing feeling in her chest was _oooo. Shiny._

“I no longer wish to look at the thing. I would like you to take it from me.”

Isabela looked up with a frown. “What’s the catch?”

“’Tis cursed, of course.”

“Right.”

Still. It was downright beautiful. Isabela had never thought she looked particularly good in green, but somehow the thought of placing it around her neck this very moment was unquestionably tantalizing.

“’Twas foolish to think I could control its power,” Morrigan said, her voice as trim as before. “But even I cannot hold a candle to what my mother once had. Things have been set in motion that cannot be stopped except for its removal. The storms for instance, and many other happenings on this island.”

“The storm?” Isabela jerked her head away from the amulet for the first time since seeing it. “What about the storm?”

“What lead you here was not a natural squall. Several days ago I was attempting to…study the amulet. It was not happy with that. Still, it is a pleasant irony that my mistake also brought a solution to me.”

“And what exactly is it you want me to _do_ with the tiny evil piece of jewelry?”

“Dispose of it,” Morrigan replied simply. “It is obvious I can glean no more from it, and the storms threaten to disturb more than ships on the sea. That, and it…does not like me.”

“It. Doesn’t _like_ you?” Isabela felt her eyes drawn back, the green stone terrifyingly fascinating, even after all she’d seen today.

“Indeed. It knows I am not my mother, and it certainly will not rest until it is as for away from me as possible. That, or it has been returned from whence it came. In order to remove it from my presence, I would like you to sail as far as you can, and drop this accursed thing in the middle of the ocean. That should sate it.”

Morrigan closed the box with a snap.

Isabela blinked, feeling dazed like she was waking up on the beach all over again. The hard stone in her stomach didn’t help matters.

“That’s lovely and all,” she began, rubbing her hand through her salt-stricken hair. “But I think you’re forgetting one very important detail: I don’t have a ship.”

As she magically sealed the box once again, Isabela could see the profile of the witch’s face, her golden eyes glittering. She wondered if that the scurvy coming on, or another on of the barmy magic things she’d never understand. Maybe Morrigan should have some fruit, just in case.

“Oh, I am sure that will not be a problem for you for long.” Morrigan all but hummed. “You seem a very intelligent woman.”

“Intelligent? Poppet, if that’s what you think, then I direct your attention to how I lost my ship in the first place.”

Morrigan laughed, and, unlike when most people laughed over a bawdy joke while drowning a tankard of mead, it did little to make Isabela feel at ease. Instead, it was laced with something, like the witch knew something Isabela didn’t.

“A debt shall be paid, for your sake as well as mine. But we talk of fanciful things while there is still sun on the horizon. Come, eat. Otherwise you will wither away before you of use to anyone.”

So Isabela ate some soup. If this is what the flesh of the innocents tasted like, she could completely understand why witches were fond of it.


	3. Insert Clever Sex Pun Here

There was a gentle pinging at the window. At first Isabela ignored it as hard as she could; the sheets were clean the pillow was comfy, and her whole body still ached like after a fun up night.

Only last night hadn’t been fun at all and the pinging noise continued.

She lifted her head of the pillow and rubbed the crust from her eyes.

The cottage was abandonded. It was easy to tell, since it was one room and there wasn’t any place big enough to stash a full-grown woman inconspicuously. That is, unless Morrigan could make herself very very small. Or turn herself invisible perhaps? Isabela didn’t want to think about it.

_Ping!_

Isabela groaned, but pushed herself out of bed.

When she stepped out into the harsh daylight, Hawke spotted her immediately. She waved frantically, trying to get the pirate’s attention.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Isabela promised.

Now that she had shaken off sleep, she did almost feel like a normal person again. She carefully made her way down the rocks, strength in her legs returning with each step, made shaky by the fact she was only wearing one boot. Had she fallen asleep with that on? Gross. She could get rid of it later, when it was more convenient.

Once she was at the reef of the spit, she spotted a small sandbank revealed by the low tide. It was comfortable enough, and she plopped down on it with an exasperated huff.

“Hello Sweet Thing. Long time no see.”

Hawke smiled in delight.

“’Suppose I should thank you. I’m in just as much debt to you as I am to the witch, maybe more. I don’t know. Do mermaids do the whole life debt thing?”

Confused head tilt. That was probably a no.

“Alright then, one less due to worry about.” Isabela leaned back with a sigh. The mermaid watched from her place in the water, but her wandering gaze made Isabela burn with closeness. She smirked. “Like what you see, my little minnow?” She gagged a little. “Uhg, never mind. Won’t be using that nickname again.”

Hawke laughed, but took that as permission to come closer. She hauled herself up on to the sand, so that she and Isabela were lying side-by-side.

“Let’s cut to the chase then. I’ve never been one to question when a good thing falls in to my lap. Who knows where the hell I’ll be in the next couple of days, but if we have a…mutual interest, I’m sure we can make the best of our time.” Isabela propped a hand under her chin. “Sure it’s going to be a bit different than my usual romps, but I’m sure I can figure a way to lift your sail.” She winked.

Instead of leaping on her and beginning the hot, salty goodness, Hawke just scrunched her face in confusion.

“You know,” Isabela prompted, “get a little cross-species interaction?”

Hawke frowned, then used her hands to make a few signs.

Isabela sighed. “Well—and I almost never say this mind you—but it looks like I’m going to need at least a _little_ understanding of the local language in order to proposition someone.”

It took a blink, but Hawke actually seemed to process parts of that. She wiggled in excitement, then scooted backwards until there was space between. Hawke reached down and stuck a finger in to the wet sand, carving out a blocky, **HELLO**.

“So you do speak!” Isabela said with astonishment. “Why weren’t you doing that the whole time instead of throwing me through the runner?”

Hawke impatiently shook her head. She pointed at the hello, then held her hand out flat while moving it away from her ear. She did this several more times until Isabela eventually got the picture. Cautiously, the pirate held up her flattened hand to her own head and copied the motion.

Hawke made a silent squeak of delight, then gave Isabela the biggest thumbs up she could muster. She didn’t even give Isabela time for a witty comeback before she was writing in the sand again.

**HAWKE.**

“With an ‘E,’ huh?” Isabela asked.

Hawke ignored her, already trying to teach the new sign. It took less time for Isabela to catch on, and soon she was pulling at her nose with two fingers.

Hawke was on a tirade, already writing out the word ‘Isabela’ before the pirate stopped her. “Hold on, hold on. As much as I appreciate it, I can’t really learn a whole new language at the moment. That’s going to take time, Sweet Thing, something I might not have when I still need to look for my ship.”

That gave Hawke pause. There was less hesitation this time though, and as Isabela looked on, Hawke began to carve out an alphabet in to her damp canvas. Isabela mused over the strangeness; this was a French island after all, yet both her and the witch spoke none.That fact would have to be filed away underneath all the _other_ strange things about this place.

Once all the letters were done, Hawke went back over them, doing simple drawings to show the basics of each corresponding hand gesture. Sun spilled over them, the two women relaxing lazily on the beach as Hawke began to drill her new student and use the alphabet as a guide. It was slow going, but they hardly noticed, afternoon pestering them by the time Isabela could finally spell a word without checking the sand for reference. With a squint of concentration, she finished motioning ‘ocean,’ her hand frozen in a fist-shape.

Hawke clapped in delight, and made her own motions.

[Good job.]

“Thanks,” Isabela huffed. She hadn’t realized how long they’d been sitting out here, half the sandbank in shadow now. “It’s slow spelling everything out, but it’ll get us far enough for now. I assume I can just talk, right? I mean, all I have to do is read what you’re saying.”

[Yes.]

“Fantastic.” Isabela didn’t move, both from consideration and the fact that she still wanted to savor the moment. “So,” she hummed, reaching out a single hand to tilt Hawke’s chin toward her, “might we return to the earlier topic of discussion?”

[What?]

Hawke raised her eyebrows with the word. A question.

“Us,” the pirate answered. She watched Hawke’s eyes for a reaction, and there certainly was one. It was deep fascination, something that was so easily transformed in to desire the two were one coin. “You like me, Sweet Thing?”

Hawke nodded. She gently knocked Isabela’s hand away and reached with her own, mimicking the touch to the chin. Her thumb went further, tracing the captain’s lips, then curling up to her ear. It stopped, caressing Isabela’s earrings with enchantment.

Isabela laughed. “Is that all you like me for? My riches? I used to have more you know, but wind and bad luck have lost me more than I’ve stolen back. My lip stud, for instance. Beautiful thing, loved it. Went down in the storm with me, and I doubt I’ll get it back.”

Hawke followed where Isabela was indicating, finding the small hole in her lower lip. Her brow furrowed in concern as she looked back up.

[Hurt?]

“Not at all. Here.” Isabela removed one of her earrings, showing off the small piercing and how it worked. She put the earring back in. “See? Just a little prick.”

She let Hawke mull that over. It was hard not to see how beautiful the mermaid was, especially when she was this close and not looking at a mouth full of teeth. She hummed to get Hawke’s attention.

“I can show you loads about putting things in bodies,” she winked, but guessed that even something as obvious as that was lost on the mermaid. “So what do you say? Ready to let me be the teacher?”

Once again Hawke’s eyes moved done the pirate’s body. She nodded.

“In that case-” The thought was lost as something cold touched Isabela’s foot. “Jesus!” The tide had come in with neither one of them noticing. The pressure of time wouldn’t have meant much, if Morrigan hadn’t called down at that exact moment.

“Hawke, you have not dragged my dear guest in to the ocean out of envy, I hope. What say you, hm? Do you plan to give her back?”

“I’m fine,” Isabela called back up just as Morrigan’s pale figure eclipsed the overhang. She tried not to let the bitter sigh in to her voice.

The witch made her way to the reef looking with raised eyebrows between Hawke and Isabela. “I hope I am not interrupting.”

“No. Why would you be.” Isabela couldn’t hide the huff this time.

An untraceable look crossed Morrigan’s face, and she handed a bag to Isabela. “Supplies. There is a port several miles north of here, and you should arrive by sundown if you leave now. ‘Tis the best place to look if you wish to find your ship.”

“You’re not coming with.”

“No I am…” Morrigan’s eyes burned. “…No longer welcome there. But, you should be unaccosted, ‘tis not a place were a mêlée happens on a whim.”

“Well then it doesn’t sound like my sort of port.” Isabela looked down at her bag then over to where Hawke had slipped regretfully back in to the water. “I suppose I should be off then. See you all…soon.”

“With all hope, Captain Isabela. Another storm is brewing, and this time it may not be as merciful.”


	4. Yar Har Fiddle Dee Dee

Isabela was used to seedy docks and disease-ridden wharfs. She had grown up on the danger of a life of travels, something not even her arranged marriage had been able to remedy. In thirty-four years, she had learned to thrive on the wild, dirty, and perilous.

Vieille Crique was none of that.

In fact, Isabela would almost say it had a _homey_ quality about it, a thought that made her gag. The villagers walked about with few cares, words that Isabela couldn’t understand flying freely from their tongues. Her French was normally adequate, but this dialect was undecipherable, and she figured she’d have to find another way of communicating what she wanted. That was the least of her concerns though, she always found a way of doing that. No, her main dilemma was that the port was _crawling with bloody soldiers_.

There was the only vessel docked, _HMS St Augustine_ , and soldiers swarmed about it like fleas on a sailor. _The Duelist_ was nowhere in sight, and Isabela had no time to look as two fully armed Englishmen rounded the corner and forced her in to the shadows.

The damn bastards must have followed them here after the storm had lifted. _There goes that three-day lead._ Isabela let out a breath once the soldiers had passed, running through a lot of stupid plans before settling on a less stupid one. She popped out each of her earrings, stuffing them in the pack Morrigan had provided. A hand mussed her hair, then re-tied her bandana until she was almost unrecognizable. There would be plenty of people in the port fitting her description, assuming the soldiers even knew she survived. Resisting the urge to quicken her pace and look anything less than casual, she made her way to the nearest inn. It would be the only _real_ place to sulk for news.

The island had a name, she was pretty sure of it. Morrigan may have even told her at one point. But, Vieille Crique was the only thing worth knowing here, that much was clear. After she’d nursed her tankard for several hours, the nightlife of the tavern began to heat up, and she finally she happened upon something of interest.

Shoulder length red hair. Mannish to the point of confusion. The captain had arrived.

Aveline Vallen turned more heads than hers as she marched through the door. They multitude of patrons could tell this was a woman who commanded weight, even without the several years of foreknowledge Isabela had. The pirate sunk deeper into her shadowed corner. Aveline knew her by sight by now; if she was seen, it was all over.

A conversation was happening between the bartender and Vallen. It was difficult to hear over the din that was winding itself back up again in order to give an illusion or normalcy. Even the bits and pieces Isabela could catch were in French, and indecipherable. _Of course. French father. Blast._

She waited. And waited. _And waited_. Finally, the company left, and she was allowed breathe easy once again.

“ _You’re not the only one they make nervous_ ,” a sudden burst of recognizable French startled her. “ _Many strange dockers here recently. Some Welsh girl of all things, running around asking too many questions. And now and English warship? Not a coincidence._ ”

Isabela eyed the man who’d spoke to her. Definitely a sailor, his accent was clear-cut. He seemed exhausted, nothing about him willing to do more than get pissed and complain in their shared darkness.

But that was ignored as his words reached her brain. “ _A Welsh girl? When? What did she look like_?”

Her formal accent startled him, he must have thought he was talking to a local. “ _Uh…young? Like she didn’t eat enough?_ ” His surprise made his tongue loose. “ _She was here a day a go, asking where to buy supplies._ ”

“ _Where did she go_?” Isabela insisted, her excitement rising.

The sailor glared, his guard raised again. “ _And why should I tell you that_?” he asked with a sneer.

“ _Because this is for you if you do_ ,” she told him, slamming a gold earring on the table with vigor. “ _And this is for you if you don’t_.” On that she sunk her only dagger in to the dry wood, inches from the sailor’s hand. “ _I’d much prefer the former_.”

Any composure the sailor had regained went out of him like a light. He took one look at the dagger and squeaked, “ _she was headed to cove! The cove on the west side! The smugglers go there!_ ”

Isabela smiled at the man who looked like he was about ready to piss himself. “ _Thanks love. As promised_ …” She picked up the earring and flipped it to him, then walked out of the tavern without looking back.

* * *

She really hadn’t meant to raise a fuss. Sure she could have easily charmed the sailor out of his boots and whatever information besides, but that would require a quick trip upstairs and time was of the essence. Every second she spent   
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               at the dock was another chance of discovery.

With that bit of direction, it didn’t take long to find the cove. Smugglers always thought they were so subtle.

There, hidden among the shoddily made docks and rock hangings, was her baby. _The Duelist_ creaked, every shift against the side of the cove sending empathy pangs through Isabela’s heart. The lightening storm had taken its toll, her ship pitiful looking even with its hull still in tact.

“Oh you poor thing…”

“…Isabela?”

Distress at _The Duelist_ ’s condition had left Isabela stone still in mouth of the cave. Her attention had sidestepped the people within, mulling about in own unscrupulous activities, and thus had ignored those that scuttled around her ship in hurried repairs. Voice carried in the echo of the cove, it had reached the ears of one little deckhand, whose eyes now widened as certainty dawned.

“ _Isabela_ ,” she repeated, now confirming that yes, this was the feared captain of the high seas. Bare feat smacked against wood as Merrill made her way at top speed and hugged Isabela at full force.

“Oof,” Isabela replied.

“Oh Isabela! I _knew_ you weren’t dead! Varric kept trying to let me down easy but I _knew it_!” Merrill squeezed all the harder.

“Easy kitten,” Isabela said, gently wrapping a one armed hug around her first mate. She didn’t hug often, but Merrill made her take a lot of exceptions. “You shouldn’t’ve worried. The day I let a little storm take me is the day Varric stops cheating at cards.”

“That’s _you_ that cheats at cards, Isabela.” Varric had followed Merrill through the several smugglers still hanging on to the docks, more careful than she not to step on any toes. He couldn’t keep a fond smile from tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Is it?” Isabela asked in mock surprise. “Must have slipped my mind. Anyway, you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

“You don’t look very dead to me.” Varric looked his captain up and down, in all her disguised-as-a-harlot glory.

“Feels that way. Now,” Isabela said, gently pushing Merrill away, “since we’ve gotten all the happy reunions out of the way, lets let the captain get at her stocks of rum.”

* * *

It took most of the night, but once she had greeted the rest of the crew and rifled through her stores in the captain’s cabin, she was happy to recount her several days as a castaway. No one believed a word of it of course (save Merrill,) but she hadn’t expected them too. Varric told her that it was too tall a tale for even him, and Fenris just shook his head. That was fine. She was home, aboard her ship, her crew around her and as loyal as they’d ever be.

“And we’re almost done. With the repairs I mean,” Merrill was telling her as she poured them some glasses in her quarters. “We still need another canon, but we can’t get one here.”

“Don’t remind me,” Isabela said glumly.

“It’ll have to wait until we get back to Spain,” Merrill continued, not having heard. “We should be able to afford that and more repairs when we sell off the cargo.”

Right. Their latest haul. With all this talk of mermaids and curses, Isabela had almost forgotten something so mundane as looting. She swirled her drink, mind drifting to the glittering green gem not so far away from here, the one that could buy a new cannon forty times over. She could practically hear it calling to her. (That was probably a side effect of it being evil and sentient, but still.)

Merrill saw her eyes misting over, and smiled over knowingly. “So. Is she pretty?”

“Hm?” Isabela blinked. “Who, Kitten?”

“The _mermaid_ ,” Merrill insisted, knowing how Isabela like to tease and make her say things aloud. “So is she…you know?”

“No prettier than you,” Isabela grinned.

“But you don’t like me, you like her.”

“I like a lot of people.”

“ _Isabela_.”

Isabela couldn’t help but laugh at Merrill’s whining. “Fine, fine. What do you want to know?”

“What color hair does she have? Is she a good singer? Does she have any friends? What’s your favorite thing about her? Have you two kissed?” Merrill was practically buzzing. For a pirate, she was terrible at holding her liquor.

“Black, no, yes, her fashion sense, and no, unfortunately.” She sighed. “Things got in the way. I had to come and save you all, of course.”

“I’m sorry we made you leave her. You could’ve stayed a _little_ longer though, we weren’t in any trouble.” Merrill thought about it for a moment and then giggled. “Well, we might’ve needed a _bit_ of saving. But not too much! I’ve been doing well keeping us together.”

“That you have, Kitten,” Isabela allowed. It was a half-lie though: she knew if she was ever confirmed dead that the crew would eat Merrill alive. And then Varric would kick their asses for touching his Daisy, and the whole ship would go up in smoke. “This whole event is a shame really. That bloody Englishwoman ruins everything. I mean, how many times in your life do you get to do the horizontal tango with a mythical creature? And even if we leave tomorrow, there’s no grantee we’re going to be able to outrun the captain in this state.”

“We’ll make it Isabela,” Merrill said with surprising hopefulness. “You’re back! With you leading us, there’s no way they’ll catch up!”

Isabela smiled. “You put a surprising amount of faith in a woman who fell off her own boat.”

“Only because that woman is you.” Merrill’s soft smile and the swaying of docked ship soothed something inside Isabela. It was then she had the scandalous notion that everything might actually be alright.

* * *

Isabela was gone with the daybreak. She felt bad for not saying goodbye, but Merrill was sleeping so peacefully that she couldn’t bear to wake her. Instead, she gently removed the second bottle from her dozing form and patted her on the head.

_Going soft, Isabela._

A pack over her shoulder, Isabela made her way across the island while pre-dawn brushed the trees. As beautiful as white sand and birdsong was, her soul was already calling out to the open sea again, looking to feel real waves beneath her boots. Boot. Damn. She still hadn’t gotten another one from her cabin.

By memory, she found the little hut once again, a curl of smoke letting her know the witch was at home. She was about to take a step forward once again when she hesitated. She knew exactly what was going on. This would be a life altering decision if she went through with it, and any number of horrible deaths might await her if she held up her end of the deal. And yet, not matter how long she held her breath at the sight of the hut, she knew what decision she would make. Maybe another woman in another time would turn and got back to her ship, but not Captain Isabela.

She made her way down the beach.

“Ah, and thus she returns,” Morrigan hummed as she opened the door for the pirate queen. “Neither early nor late, and more worn than before.” Her voice was calm and unsurprised, like she had known Isabela’s location all along.

“Yes well. Pirates are known for our punctuality.”

Morrigan moved aside, allowing Isabela to enter. It was much the same as when she had left it yesterday morning, right down to the discarded bowl of stew. The single bed in the corner looked undisturbed, and Morrigan might not have existed at all if it weren’t for a fresh pot cooking above the fire.

“Have a nice day while I was out?” Isabela asked blandly.

“Not quite. I was preparing.”

“Preparing for what?”

“Your departure.”

“…Right.” Vague and generally creepy answer. What else was she expecting? “Well, I suppose it’s time to get down to business then. Got a magic amulet for me to dump?”

Morrigan merely smiled. She went to the wooden lockbox, crooking her finger for Isabela to follow. Despite knowing what was coming, the pirate still felt a weight on her chest, one that only grew heavier the closer she came. Once again, Morrigan opened the lock with magic, the soft _click_ too loud in the cramped hut. This time, when Morrigan showed her the amulet, she presented the box forward.

Isabela hesitated. But her decision was made; the witch had played her every sting.

She reached forward, and lifted the amulet by the chain. The pull intensified, and the logical part of her brain told her to drop it. But she never listened to that part when treasure was involved, and instead brought it close to her face. It was just as beautiful as before, her memories of it nowhere near its splendor. She realized she had nowhere to carry it, lest she wanted it coming loose at some point or another. Storing it on the ship was twice as bad. Pirate band, after all. So, she undid the clasp, and brought the amulet around her neck.

“Now, you will have to go out far enough that you will be away from me. Or at least, ‘til it thinks I am away.” Morrigan tilted her head, as though taking a moment to admire Isabela’s appearance. But by this point, Isabela knew there must be more to it than that; nothing was ever as it seemed with witches. “However, you should not wear it for so long that you will start to feel its…affects.”

“Dare I ask what those might be?”

“I would prefer if you did not.”

Isabela…did not feel particularly different as she said her goodbyes to Morrigan. The amulet felt warm against her skin, but not particularly evil. She could either take that as a good sign, or that it was lulling her in to a false sense of security.

She stood on beach, the sand already hot against her bare foot. Morrigan’s parting words came from behind her, “Good luck to you, Captain Isabela. I pray you will not need it.” And then there was the click of the door.

Isabela walked down to the sand spit without thinking. She hadn’t even considered Hawke might be there, merely felt a pull like the tide already lapping at the shore.

The mermaid was there, her red scales a perfect match to the fish blood that was splattered across the rest of her. Even as Isabela watched, Hawke brutally ripped off her meal’s head with her dozens of pointed teeth, chewing thoughtfully before gulping down the rest. The fish disappeared, bones and all, and she reached for another one in the pile next to her.

“I suppose if you do that in the sea it doesn’t make as big of a mess…” Isabela rationalized.

Hawke jerked her head at the sound of a witness, and her eyes widened with delight. Then she processed Isabela’s words and looked down at herself. She shrugged absently, but dipped back in to the sea.

The next time she popped her head up, Isabela had resumed her seat on the sandbank (far away from the dead fish.) Hawke pulled herself next to her, smile glowing again.

[You came back!]

“That I did sweet thing. I needed to say my goodbyes.”

Hawke’s face fell, but she had the presence of mind to give a small smile.

[Glad you did.]

Isabela mirrored her smirk. Sitting there in the daylight, the red splash across her face made it look like she hadn’t quite got all the blood off. Isabela idly traced a hand over it, her thumb gently disturbing the water droplets on the bridge of her nose. Hawke’s eyes closed in bliss.

“Like I would ever miss this.”

Hawke’s lids cracked open, and her look was fond and warm. She blinked for a second, then drew her head back.

[Something for you.]

Isabela didn’t now what that could possibly be, and she didn’t get a chance to ask. With a splash, Hawke disappeared into the water. What only took a moment, perhaps to return to the hidey-hole the mermaid tucked away all her trinkets, and she was back, breaching the surface with fresh saltwater in her hair. With a strong hand, she pushed something into Isabela’s palm.

“This…this is my stud!” Isabela stared at the golden bauble in her hand, beautiful and unmistakable. She held it up to the sunshine, admiring the familiar glow. “Did I just…waste my magical wish on getting this back instead of my dagger?”  


Hawke titled her head.

“Oh I’m kidding.” Isabela smiled. “Thank you Hawke. It’s beautiful. But…” Hesitation, then she pressed the stud back in to Hawke’s hands. “I want you to have it. Think of it as a going away present. And something to remember me by.”

Isabela pushed down her regret as she watched Hawke admire the jewelry. It was obvious she was too attached to the lip stud as it was, otherwise she wouldn’t have mourned it enough to tell Hawke. It was better this way. Plus, the mermaid seemed to delight in it.

[Sure?]

“Yes, I’m sure.”

[Then thank you!]

Twiddling it between her fingers, Hawke admired her new possession.

“Besides. The universe has started giving back to dear old Isabela. See this,” Isabela said as she lifted the amulet from the front of her shirt.

It was like the whole beach was suddenly becalmed, the temperate changing to ice as Hawke’s eyes landed on the amulet. She let out a horrid screech, one Isabela had heard only once before when she attempted to speak above water. The mermaid wheeled away, hissing as she tried to get back in to the water.

“Ooookay. I take it you’re not fond of the witch’s trinkets.” Hawke’s eyes burned with anger at the necklace in Isabela’s fist, and Isabela tried to assuage her, “it’s alright, it’s not going to hurt anyone. At least not for a while.”

Hawke wasn’t listening. She made sharp motions with her hands, hard to read since one was still balled in to a fist. Eventually Isabela was able to make out her demanding of _where, where?!_

Shrugging, she replied, “Morrigan. Where else? She wanted me to take it out in to the ocean and drop it, so it’ll stop trying to kill her or something.”

[And you believe?!?!]

The maid was fuming, each motion punctuated by a splash in the water.

“Of course I don’t believe her! I wouldn’t trust her to pour my drink, let alone with a cursed amulet! I’m setting sail tonight, and I’m going all the way to Spain to sell this blasted thing.”

Her tail smack in to a wave.

[Even worse!]

“Oh yeah?” Isabela felt herself getting angry now, but not sure why. The chain felt too hot around her neck. “Then what would you have me do, O expert of lightning voodoo?”

[Don’t! Leave it. Hurt you.]

Hawke was becoming so distressed Isabela couldn’t catch her meaning anymore. She wasn’t sure if it was truly the mermaids fault, or if she simply didn’t want to.

“Just leave it? Well I have news for you Sweet Thing: I’m a pirate. I take things, and I sell them. I’d what I do. So if that’s something you can’t handle, then you can just get off my bloody case.” She was standing now, her words spitting.

Hawke looked at her, her face splitting in to a look of hurt. But it was gone in a moment, hardened as she waited. But Isabela said no more, and Hawke knew she had made her decision. With one last glare, she slipped in to the sea.

The walk back to _The Duelist_ was long, and Isabela couldn’t get the bitter taste of copper out of her mouth.


	5. This Chapter Best Read While Listening to the Pirates of the Caribbean Soundtrack

Five days after _The Duelist_ had cast off, and Isabela’s mood had only soured. The crew did their best to stay way from her, in fear she would turn her angry glare from the ocean to them. Five days, and the bubbling tension Isabela could feel beneath her new boots found them.

The swell of gray clouds were back, and Isabela caught sight of the sparks of green within them now that she knew she was looking for. The chain at her neck grew hotter, but that only stirred Isabela’s determination as she called for all men to their stations.

Wind and ice beat against _The Duelist_ with ferocity, and every step was a fight through black rain. It went on for hours, vengeful that the minuscule humans had escaped the first time.

It would only get worse.

As Isabela stood above the carnage and the chaos, her eyes widened that, hell, this might actually be the end. Lighting split wet wood, fire threatened to break out along the dock, a cockboat fell from its place at the keel’s side. Things were coming to a head.

 _The_ _St Augustine_ pulled out of the mists like a ghost ship, headed by the grim reaper, ready to collect punishment from the sinner’s ark.

Her captain must have been determined not to let the pirates escape a second time, or had been simply swept in to the storm as they had. Either way, Isabela’s heart sank all the further as the enemy ship came in to view. In a panic, the crew abandoned their posts in order reach battle stations. _The Duelist_ was left a helpless bottle in an endlessly churning sea. From where Isabela stood at the helm, fighting a losing battle against the wheel, she was thrown as the last semblance of control broke from her hand and spun without compulsion.

A hand reached up to cup the amulet around her neck. With desperation, she propped herself against the rail and watched as her crew readied for the incoming attack. Not everyone would make through this battle, if they survived at all. Even _that_ seemed to be slipping away as both seawater and English soldiers poured on to her deck.

Nothing mattered anymore except to fight for their last. Except…

There was one thing.

It was with one last clutching wave of desperation, only overpowering the warmth on her chest through hopelessness, that yanked the amulet downward. The chain snapped against her spine, so fragile, one last pull before she raised her arm and threw-

 _The St Augustine_ crashed in to _The Duelist’s_ hull. There was one blinding second of confusion where she felt her arm go wide, and then she was tossed chest against the stern’s railing.

Isabela struggled to her feet only to look up and the enemy vessel cemented against her own, a spider that had caught its prey. But her heart only sank lower as she watched the amulet skid to a landing on _The St Augustine’s_ deck.

“Of all the-!”

A torrent of swears escaped her as she scrambled over the railing and leaped.

She landed on the opposite deck with a roll and was immediately surrounded by fighting, the pirates locked in combat with _The St Augustine’s_ men. Her crew had returned the favor of boarding as duels broke out aboard both ships.

“Alright men! It’s time we gave these dandies a good spanking!” were the best words of encouragement she could come up with for the minute. It worked, and a cry of enthusiasm rose as their captain joined the fray. She met a block with her dagger, drawn from her back faster than the lightening. Rain and the bodies of sailors fought her vision as she searched again for the small green token, lost in the deluge.

Then it was _there_ , right there, and she had taken one step closer when _she_ appeared above the quarterdeck.

Captain Vallen drew her sword, and pointed across the masses of men at the one lone pirate queen. She boomed, “Captain Isabela! By order of his majesty King Charles II, you are under arrest for piracy, thievery, and evading justice. If you do not surrender now, may the Lord have mercy on your soul!”

“Oh _balls_.”

Isabela rushed forward, and maybe Aveline hadn’t been expecting her to run, because her face flashed with surprise as the pirate avoided the fight and skidded around her legs.

 _Where’d it go?_ Isabela managed to think before she was forced to block Aveline’s blade rushing at her neck. _Come on! Where is it?_

She parried another blow as she turned to face her rival.

“Believe it or not Big Girl, I actually have more important things to do than you at the moment.”

“Fight with steel, not with words, whore,” Aveline spit as she swung.

“Well. No need to be _rude_ about it.”

Isabela blocked every blow, but the lack of her other dagger made each disadvantage stronger. Now she was losing ground quickly, taking steps backwards, away from the deck. The captains’ battle raged higher, above the rest of the melee. Isabela’s searched for the green gem, tossed between feet, each distraction putting her at the mercy of the Englishwoman.

At some point she would miss a swing, she would fail to block, their dance would be over and-

There!

It was surrounded by the empty deck and bodies no longer moving, clear as day. With one extravagant parry Isabela disengaged, throwing herself back down to the gun deck and landing on the elusive prize.

She could feel the amulet in her hand, burning, hissing as rain splattered it. Her fingers tangled in the chain, securing it, but now she realized her mistake. She was on her side, now venerable in her desperate scramble for the amulet. As it dawned on her, she saw the figure above raise her sword in one last fatal strike-

Until a bolt of lightening shattered the mast. A beam swung from darkness, knocking aside the figure, and sending Isabela’s world in to blackness.

* * *

_Well this is certainly familiar._

She was gliding in to darkness, the rush of water in her ears as her face stared in to the inky abyss. The light of the storm was above her feet this time, and the thing pulling her down wasn’t wrapped around her ankle, but her wrist. She cracked open her eyes, stinging in the salt, to look at the necklace clasped in her hand. The gem looked back at her, shining with an unearthly light. It was so much heavier now, like it was drawn toward the sea floor magnetically.

She loosened the chain around her wrist and watched it disappear.

Now, as darkness sprung from below to settle in the edges of her consciousness, her last thoughts were of her ship, and a smiling scarred face.

* * *

A dingy bumped against the edge of _The Duelist_. The small cockboat had been lost a day ago, shortly before the fight with _The St Augustine_ began, and was the least of the concerns of the pirate band ever since then. So it was no surprise that the boat went unnoticed for quite some time, even though it lazily tapped against the hull every now and again. It was only when Merrill had been taking one of her bare-footed walks along the rail of the ship that she happened to look down and catch it. And even then, it was only after someone followed her to edge and said, “holy shit. _It’s the captain_ ,” that the good news began to spread throughout the ship.

Isabela woke to the ruckus above her, as over twenty people tried to help Varric ready the pulleys to bring her up. The sun was too bright, and her body too washed up to truly appreciate the miracle of being alive. She thanked her crew for their dedication by leaning over and vomiting salt-water over the edge.

* * *

After lightening had split _The St Augustine’s_ mast, the pirates had seized their opportunity to retreat. Once they had lost sight of the enemy ship over the horizon, the storm began to abate, until their was nothing left at all. It wasn’t until they were long gone that they noticed the absence of their captain.

They figured she was either dead or captured. If the later, they needed to make a hasty detour to London and start planning their rescue mission.

Isabela was told all of this over a loud party and several tankards of rum, to make up for the fact they had never properly celebrated the last time she had returned from the dead. Varric had come up to her at one point to give a joking, yet regretful apology. It was he who had sounded the retreat, and Isabela guessed he’d been blaming himself since then. She took it was a smile, and said it was alright as long as he never did it again, to which he laughed.

It was through all the partying that Isabela had managed to slip out. The general consensus was that she’d been launched off _The St Augustine_ and had landed in the cockboat, still floating about from when it’d gotten loose. She hadn’t told them about the amulet, or her fall in to the sea. Those details she kept to herself as she tied a loop in the pulley system and slipped a heel in to the rope. The wheels squeaked above her as she lowered herself to the water.

Something unsurprising was hidden against the hull of the ship, drenched in shadow and listening to the muffled music coming from within the hold. The mermaid sat comfortably on the open gun port as the captain descended, fitting snugly in to _The Duelist’s_ side. Soon they were side-by-side, two parasites on the skin of the ship.

“Someone’s a long way from home,” Isabela said softly. Anything louder than a whisper seemed out of place in the lapping waves and stirring moonlight.

Hawke smiled, soft and sad.

“Why did you come back?”

This time, Hawke managed to look even sadder than before.

[You know why.]

Isabela hummed in agreement. She looked over the mermaid, just as beautiful as when they’d met. “Hawke…thank you. For…” _For saving my life. For showing me there’s still magic out there._ “…For everything.”

Her eyes brightened, and Hawked reached out a hand to Isabela. She froze for a moment, hesitating, but then closed the last couple inches to cup the pirate’s cheek.

“You were right. All along. About the deal.”

[Yeah. I know.]

It wasn’t really a joke, but Isabela laughed all the same. It was then that she noticed something familiar about the maid’s face: a gold stud, set flush with her right ear. The skin was red, still healing from where it was pierced. Isabela smiled.

“You know, I don’t think we ever properly said goodbye, Hawke.”

The look Hawke gave could only be described as heartsick, even as their faces glided closer together. The sea wind was twinged with a melancholy that didn’t fit beauty that surrounded them, the pirate hanging from the ropes and the mermaid holding to the ship. But, when their lips finally connected, that one last goodbye was enough to satisfy the longing in their touch. At least for a little while.


End file.
